


A Satisfactory Maneuver

by kirazi



Series: Winterfell Sequence [3]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, First Time, Idiots in Love, Jaime Calling Brienne Ser is Obviously Their Favorite Kink, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2020-02-26 17:41:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18721852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kirazi/pseuds/kirazi
Summary: “Take off your shirt, then,” she tells him, firmly, because if he wants her to command him she will, andoh,that thought’s a revelation.(Brienne and Jaime finally use that bed for more than just sleeping and talking, although there’s still a fair amount of talking.)





	A Satisfactory Maneuver

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently I write porn now; it’s entirely HBO’s fault. If these two don’t actually bang onscreen tonight I’m going to throw something at the television, but if not, well, here’s this. Sequel to “Rescued Again” and “Adequate Vocabulary,” back to Brienne’s POV.

Brienne’s always hated the way her pale skin blushes so easily, her blood betraying her, and now she knows she’s flushed all over, the heat moving in waves from her face to her chest, and lower still. They’re still fully clothed, leaning back against the pillows, kissing madly, but Jaime’s hand is under her shirt, stroking up the small of her back and then down to her waist again, trailing across her sides along the top of her breeches, and just that simple touch is making her delirious, making her arch her hips up against his, so that she feels him hard against her leg, and marvels at it: the obvious evidence of his desire. She’d expected to find herself shy, to be more shocked, although she’s spent enough time around soldiers and taverns to have witnessed what happens between men and women, what their bodies do together. She’s thought about what it might feel like, of course, alone at night in her bedroll, slipping a hand between her legs. The reality is different: less predictable, more overwhelming, better.

Jaime pulls back for a moment to look at her. “May I?” he says, fingers edging the hem of her shirt to make his meaning clear. She nods, and sits up a little, to help him pull it off. She stifles the impulse to shield herself from his avid gaze, to look away or cross her arms over her breasts, as he reaches out to trace her collarbones with a fingertip, ghosting across the parallel scars the bear’s claw had left on her, before bending to kiss them.

“Nothing you don’t want,” he promises her, his breath warm at her neck.

“I want to,” she tells him, and means it. “It’s just—I know what happens, but not how I should—I mean, I haven't …” she trails off, furious at her stammering incoherency.

Jaime presses another kiss to her shoulder. “It’s new for me too,” he says, clearly trying to reassure her. “I’ve never been with anyone but…with anyone else,” he reminds her, and she’s glad he doesn’t say the name, even if they’ve spent the past few hours talking about it. “We’ll just have to work it out together,” he says. “I _do_ think I’m a quick study, though”—he traces his hand along the spot that made her shiver, before, and she shivers again, deliciously—“and you’ve always very been good at giving clear orders in the field.” She can’t hold back a snort of laughter at that, and he grins at her, an archer who’s pleased to have landed his shot.

“Take off your shirt, then,” she tells him, firmly, because if he wants her to command him she will, and _oh_ , that thought’s a revelation; it makes the heat on her skin pool into her belly, and pulse downwards.

Jaime complies, still grinning, and she reaches out and touches him, running her hands over his shoulders and through the scatter of graying hair at his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart under her palm. She maps out the scars that he carries, mirrors of her own, the familiar evidence of a lifetime of encounters with blows from edged blades and the friction of metal plate. He knew what he was about, when he armored her, and somehow that fact’s more reassuring than any words he can offer her now. The stump at the end of his right arm rests against her left thigh, and she lets her fingers trace along his forearm, avoiding the still-tender abrasions where the cuff usually rests. He’s patient while she explores him, although his breath is quickening, and after a moment or two more, he cups his hand to her face and pulls her in for another kiss, wet and fierce, beard rough against her cheek, catching her lower lip between his teeth. She moans, a little, at that, and he leaves her mouth to place more kisses at her jaw, her neck, her collarbone. Then his hand is cupping one of her breasts, flicking a thumb over the nipple, while he takes the other in his mouth and sucks at it, with just a faint scrape of his teeth, and a bolt of heat goes through her, straight to the aching place between her legs. Her hands slide down his strong back and catch hold of the leather waist of his breeches, and she catches her breath enough to say “ _Off_.”

She feels bereft, for a moment, when he takes his hands and mouth off her to comply, but it’s replaced by the pleasure of watching him—he’s flushed, too, and breathing just as hard as she is—as he undoes the laces one-handed and shucks them down, rising from the bed to pull them off and standing before her, naked and unembarrassed and beautiful. She’s seen the whole of his body before, but it’s different, now, to be welcomed to look without hiding it, with frank desire, and to see his standing evident in return—the part that’s notably changed from what she’d glimpsed in the baths. Brienne hopes it’s not too obvious, the way she’s staring at his cock and blushing, but she knows it must be, so she diverts her attention to her own breeches and gets them and her smallclothes down in what she hopes is a reasonably graceful manner, tossing them to the floor. Only then does she look back at his face, and she’s a little startled to find that he’s staring, too, looking at her revealed body like it’s also something astonishing. Heart hammering against her ribs, she reaches for his hand and pulls him back to the bed, and Jaime sinks back down onto the mattress and stretches the full length of his body against hers and puts his hand in her hair while he kisses her like a drowning man seeking air.

It’s marvelous, the feel of his skin on hers all the way down, the tickle of his chest hair against her breasts, the way he nudges a knee between hers and instinct makes her grind down— _oh_ —against the firm anchor of his thigh. She smooths her hands over his back, then dares to move them further down, feeling the muscles in his arse flex beneath her palms as he bucks against her, his cock hard and hot against the skin of her belly. His left hand traces its way along her ribcage, across the curve of her belly, between her thighs, and she can’t help making a noise against his mouth. Jaime strokes her gently, exploring, and then he’s whispering against her ear.

“Have you done this? Can you tell me what you like?”

Brienne can’t speak, but she nods, her face scarlet, and he coaxes it out of her, slowly, in faint little gasps of “oh,” and “mmm,” and “yes, _there_ ,” and once she can feel how slick she is, he slides his fingers into her and starts moving them, and she can't help starting to move, too, in response. Then suddenly he’s bracing himself up on his right elbow, kissing down her chest and her belly until his mouth is on her, _there_ , and she puts both her hands in his hair and forgets to think about anything—except the sweet, throbbing feeling that’s mounting inside her, until she bucks up against his mouth, crying out, the waves of it cresting and rushing through all of her trembling limbs. He presses a soft, pleased kiss against her hipbone, still gently stroking her while the feeling subsides, and then she pulls his head back up to hers and kisses him hard, tasting herself on his smiling mouth.

It’s her turn to touch him, then, and he moans when she puts her hand on his cock. She’s not hesitant any longer, her whole body relaxed and thrumming with echoed pleasure, and now her curiosity takes over, so she's delighting in the surprise of how smooth his skin is there, like hot silk, at the way it pulses in her hand, at the encouraging noises he’s making and the way his whole body twitches when she brushes her thumb over the head. She leverages herself up on one arm and bends closer, thinking about taking it in her mouth—she’s heard enough coarse talk to know men like that, and if it feels anywhere near as good as what he’d done for her she wants to give him that feeling, too—but Jaime catches her arm, gasping her name, and she halts, uncertain.

He gazes up at her, smiling deliriously, his pupils blown. “I won’t stop you, but if you do, I’m not going to last long enough to—to have you. If you want that, instead.” It takes a moment, but when his meaning reaches her, she feels herself blushing again, and nods, fierce—she does want it; they’ve come this far, and she wants to know how it feels, to feel it with him. She sits up, taking her hand off him, and then pauses, unsure where to move, how to position herself. Jaime sees her hesitate, and then pushes himself up on his good hand.

“If you want to go astride, my lady, I’m ready. Or lie back down and let me do the hard work. I’m at—or under—your command. _Ser_ ,” he adds, because he _is_ a quick study, and he’s clearly noticed the little surge that goes through her at the sound of that word in his mouth, meant for her. She nods, and leans back against the pillows, reaching an arm out to pull him on top of her, and then waiting. He takes a moment to kiss her again, deeply, and kiss each of her breasts in turn, catching his breath, then kneels above her and lines himself up, reaching for her waist and guiding her until she cants her hips up a little to the angle he needs. He ruts his cock against her once, twice, a third time, letting her relax into the feeling of the contact, and then takes it in his hand and pushes into her, gently, until he’s just started to breach her. Then he leans down, the weight of him comforting atop her, his eyes fixed on her face, and presses in, and in, moving slow, almost tense with the effort to control himself. She’d expected there might be some pain, even though two decades of riding and fighting have probably done for her maidenhead already, but it doesn’t hurt: there’s just an odd sensation of stretching, and then of fullness. It’s a little strange, but not unpleasant, and Jaime’s searching her face to see if she’s all right so she nods at him, _yes_ , and he rocks into her in earnest, exhaling with relief and groaning as she clenches around him, and _oh_ , now it feels _good_.

He leans in to kiss her and says something she doesn’t quite catch, the words lost against her mouth, and then he starts to move again, and she puts her hands on his arse and pulls and almost laughs as he thrusts hard, involuntary, in response to her touch, as she tries to figure out how to move with him. It’s a little like fighting, but better, even if she’s clumsy and unpracticed at this—the general shape of it is familiar enough, the way she tries to gather her awareness of her body and another’s, moving in concert, pushing and pulling, breathing hard. Then Jaime is thrusting into her, deep and fast, his earlier carefulness gone, and she imagines for a moment how it _would_ feel to ride him, and vows to find out as soon as she can. His shoulders are shaking as he slams into her once, and again, and then he’s gone, a sudden aching absence, as he spills against her belly with a hoarse, unintelligible shout, and collapses on top of her, spent. _Ah_. She cradles the warm weight of him in her arms, his chest heaving for breath against hers, and kisses the top of his head, simultaneously grateful that he’d had the good sense to think of that—she’s going to have to find out if there’s moon tea to be had here—and a little sorry that he’s not still inside her.

He’s slower to recover than she was, but after a moment he pushes himself back up, like he’s just realized his full weight is resting on her, and rolls to the side, pulling her along with him so they’re still close, facing each other, when he opens his eyes. He’s smiling at her, and she feels her mouth curving up in response. Brienne is a bit unsure what exactly one says, in moments like this, so she just kisses him, and lets her head fall back onto the pillow, settling into the warm curve of his arm.

Then Jaime says, “A satisfactory maneuver, I hope,” and a giggle bursts out of her, and he hauls her in close, hugging her so tight it hurts a little—she’s starting to regain awareness of all the bruises she’d forgotten about having for the past hour—but she doesn’t mind at all.

“Yes, it was,” she tells him, unable to keep the fondness out of her voice, and why should she try, now? “We’ll have to keep practicing it, though,” she adds.

Jaime reaches out to brush a stray lock of hair from her forehead, looking thoroughly satisfied with both himself and the world, although somehow she's finding that expression endearing and not annoying, for once. “I’m at your service,” he says with an obedient nod, yawning a little between the words. “For regular drills, and scouting parties, if you need to explore the territory further.”

Brienne can't help yawning too, and she shivers a little as she stretches, the sweat starting to cool on her skin. “Get under the covers,” she tells him, and he does as he’s ordered, although she catches him pausing to watch her while she stands up to move out of the way and stops to wipe the mess off her belly with one of their discarded shirts.

“You have the most extraordinarily long legs,” he says, drowsy and almost slurring the words, as he holds the blankets open for her. “Have I mentioned that before?”

“Once or twice,” she tells him, settling into the space beside him, claiming the good ground she intends to hold, this night and all the nights to come.

“Good,” he replies, and puts his arm around her, closing his eyes.


End file.
